Nabokov and the History of Literature

Brian Boyd is coming out with a book of essays on Vladimir Nabokov, and we have an essay from him on Nabokov as psychologist. I only skimmed it, not being able to get much traction on the article, but I like a proposition of Nabokov's that he puts forward:

the whole history of literary fiction as an evolutionary process may be said to be a gradual probing of deeper and deeper layers of life. … The artist, like the scientist, in the process of evolution of art and science, is always casting around, understanding a little more than his predecessor, penetrating further with a keener and more brilliant eye.

Has literature been a forwardly progressive enterprise in the way that science has advanced? Are our psychological insights into the heart of man superior to those of Plato's and Milton's? And what about Shakespeare! Or is it possible that it only might seem so because the material conditions of man have changed dramatically enough that our literary artists may seem to be advancing accordingly when they capture the human condition in its new material circumstances?

At first, I was tempted to think that we might be able to see that we are now bolder when it comes to our sexual nature than the artists of previous eras, but I was recently rereading some of Ovid's "Metamorphoses", with all those depictions of the gods raping women, and then there was my recent reading of Genesis and its tale of incest, and I become doubtful that we have progressed even on this sexual front. True, we have progressed after a term of regression that was born of the Puritanical/Victorian era, but that might be the extent of our progress, to have come back from a regression, a falling back.

I am thinking that art may be more like religion than science, and is more of a way for man to cope with this alienating world and the madness that we bring into it.

Nabokov and the History of Literature

Brian Boyd is coming out with a book of essays on Vladimir Nabokov, and we have an essay from him on Nabokov as psychologist. I only skimmed it, not being able to get much traction on the article, but I like a proposition of Nabokov's that he puts forward:

the whole history of literary fiction as an evolutionary process may be said to be a gradual probing of deeper and deeper layers of life. … The artist, like the scientist, in the process of evolution of art and science, is always casting around, understanding a little more than his predecessor, penetrating further with a keener and more brilliant eye.

Has literature been a forwardly progressive enterprise in the way that science has advanced? Are our psychological insights into the heart of man superior to those of Plato's and Milton's? And what about Shakespeare! Or is it possible that it only might seem so because the material conditions of man have changed dramatically enough that our literary artists may seem to be advancing accordingly when they capture the human condition in its new material circumstances?

At first, I was tempted to think that we might be able to see that we are now bolder when it comes to our sexual nature than the artists of previous eras, but I was recently rereading some of Ovid's "Metamorphoses", with all those depictions of the gods raping women, and then there was my recent reading of Genesis and its tale of incest, and I become doubtful that we have progressed even on this sexual front. True, we have progressed after a term of regression that was born of the Puritanical/Victorian era, but that might be the extent of our progress, to have come back from a regression, a falling back.

I am thinking that art may be more like religion than science, and is more of a way for man to cope with this alienating world and the madness that we bring into it.

Being Monkeys

The religious images always do it for me, the world is a fucked up place.

-- Miss T.

This was in response to a picture I posted of a priest getting head from a pigtailed girl, using her cute braids like handlebars. I doubt I will get to enjoy much conversation with her, and that's too bad.

I said, "I like to think of wild pornography as a kind of exorcism or catharsis for the darker, primal stuff inside of us - a safe outlet where no one is hurt. I actually kind of have some religious aspirations of my own, but in the end, I'm afraid that we are just monkeys that can talk and the world is indeed mad - the inmates running the asylum."

She said, "I agree with the pornography part, it's why I don't feel guilty for what I write. No one is hurt in the process and it's kept locked down in hopes that no one with intentions to act on their urges will ever read. As for being monkeys that can walk and talk, I believe at least half of the world is like that for sure."

I said, "LOL The male half maybe?"

She said, ";P that may have been my thought! lol."

Being Monkeys

The religious images always do it for me, the world is a fucked up place.

-- Miss T.

This was in response to a picture I posted of a priest getting head from a pigtailed girl, using her cute braids like handlebars. I doubt I will get to enjoy much conversation with her, and that's too bad.

I said, "I like to think of wild pornography as a kind of exorcism or catharsis for the darker, primal stuff inside of us - a safe outlet where no one is hurt. I actually kind of have some religious aspirations of my own, but in the end, I'm afraid that we are just monkeys that can talk and the world is indeed mad - the inmates running the asylum."

She said, "I agree with the pornography part, it's why I don't feel guilty for what I write. No one is hurt in the process and it's kept locked down in hopes that no one with intentions to act on their urges will ever read. As for being monkeys that can walk and talk, I believe at least half of the world is like that for sure."

I said, "LOL The male half maybe?"

She said, ";P that may have been my thought! lol."

Hamlet (1,1) The Precurse of Fierce Events

After Horatio apprises Marcellus and Barnardo of the military tensions with young Fortinbras, Barnardo notes that it may not be a coincidence that this ghost comes in the form of the old king and in martial stalk. Horatio agrees, and Shakespeare heightens the dramatic pitch by tying in his story with the great ghostly lore of ancient Rome and the death of kings.

_ _ _

H:
A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets,
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun, and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And the prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.

-- Hamlet (1,1)

_ _ _

This is a nice bit of misdirection on Shakespeare’s part, letting the audience play with the idea that this ghost has unfinished business with Fortinbras. Of course, we know that the ghost, Old Hamlet, is utterly indifferent to Fortinbras and these military tensions. It’s Personal! Though, fierce events are still at hand.

Hamlet (1,1) The Precurse of Fierce Events

After Horatio apprises Marcellus and Barnardo of the military tensions with young Fortinbras, Barnardo notes that it may not be a coincidence that this ghost comes in the form of the old king and in martial stalk. Horatio agrees, and Shakespeare heightens the dramatic pitch by tying in his story with the great ghostly lore of ancient Rome and the death of kings.

_ _ _

H:
A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets,
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun, and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And the prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.

-- Hamlet (1,1)

_ _ _

This is a nice bit of misdirection on Shakespeare’s part, letting the audience play with the idea that this ghost has unfinished business with Fortinbras. Of course, we know that the ghost, Old Hamlet, is utterly indifferent to Fortinbras and these military tensions. It’s Personal! Though, fierce events are still at hand.